


It's a Virus, Not Morning Sickness

by GordandV



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 07:46:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11962908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GordandV/pseuds/GordandV
Summary: “Sick? I just saw Yuuri yesterday; he was fine.”“I know, but he’s been throwing up for an hour and he looks really sick. He’s really pale and sweaty and he might have a fever but I can’t tell because he’s been throwing up so hard!”“Hard?” Celestino repeats.Phichit whimpers. “It’s like he’s trying to win a medal or something."Having to take care of a sick international athlete was not on Celestino's list of things to do during winter break.





	It's a Virus, Not Morning Sickness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youaremarvelous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaremarvelous/gifts), [MariaCam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaCam/gifts).



> Dedicated to everyone who loves Celestino, especially youaremarvelous and MariaCam who motivated me to delve into more “what-if” college scenarios. I'm convinced Celestino became a pseudo-father for Yuuri and Phichit, which includes the not-so fun parts of being a dad.

Winter break is a blessing and a curse, even for Celestino. On the one hand it means finals are over, which means no more skating students who are unsteady and shaky from either too little sleep or too much caffeine, trying to finish projects, papers, and whatever else they need to pass the class. Celestino no longer has to keep (even more) tissues wadded up in his pockets or have hot chocolate on standby by the gallon to comfort students who reach their limits at practice. He learns to not ask “how are you” at the end of any semester as that is often the trigger phrase for many students who immediately bawl at hearing it. With winter break comes an ultimate relief from academic pressure, and while Celestino hasn’t sat in a classroom for years, he’s just as happy as his students to say goodbye to the semester.

On the other hand, winter break means that many of his students go home for a few weeks. Many don’t have access to a formal gym, nevertheless a formal rink to ensure they stay in tip-top shape. Celestino knows many will gorge themselves to the point of sickness the first few days with home cooking after months of eating at the dining hall or being self-sufficient. On top of that, the holiday season is an abundance of rich, never-ending meals. Celestino knows it will be a constant battle for some students more than others to say no to extra helpings or even make reasonable portion choices. To try and remedy that he always makes sure to have new, rather strict diet plans and admittedly brutal training plans for those he thinks will come back and need a good kick to get them back to where they were.

Luckily for Celestino not all his students go home during winter break. His international ones tend to stay on campus, which means they are not subjected to the same temptations of home, and they have continued access to the rink and gym. He sees even more of Yuuri and Phichit who seem to have filled their new post-semester free time with even more practice and training, though both swear they are enjoying their vacation too.

It takes a week for Celestino to feel unreasonably guilty at their dedication, and perhaps even a little sad that the two can’t be home with their families. When they show up the first Saturday of winter break at a modest 10:00am Celestino breaks. He asks if either have ever seen Meadow Brook Hall. When they look at him with puzzled expressions, he proceeds to herd them to his car, drives a half hour north, and ends up playing Detroit tour guide for the rest of the day which includes taking the two out for lunch and dinner. The night ends with Celestino dropping the two off at their dorm building after dessert, courtesy of his overbearing wife. While he had initially acted on his own guilt, the happy expressions he sees assure him he did the right thing.

The second week of winter break starts with Celestino receiving a frantic phone call from Phichit.

“Phichit, good morning,” he greets as he shifts his phone between his ear and shoulder to fill up his travel thermos. “Don’t tell me you and Yuuri are at the rink already.”

“Ciao Ciao, Yuuri’s really sick and I, I don’t know what to do,” cries Phichit, and just his tone is enough to put Celestino on edge. He sets the thermos down on the counter.

“Sick? I just saw Yuuri yesterday; he was fine.”

“I know, but he’s been throwing up for an hour and he looks really sick. He’s really pale and sweaty and he might have a fever but I can’t tell because he’s been throwing up so hard!”

“Hard?” Celestino repeats.

Phichit whimpers. “It’s like he’s trying to win a medal or something. He’s not even throwing up anything anymore.”

“That’s alright, sometimes the body just has to go through the motion,” Celestino soothes.

“But it’s been so long! I don’t know what to do, Ciao Ciao, he’s never thrown up for this long before,” Phichit says weakly. “He only threw up for a half hour when he had much tequila one night, and that’s the worst I ever saw him! Normally he just throws up for a few minutes before he’s fine.”

Celestino feels his eyes goes wide as he derails. “Tequila? When did Yuuri have tequila?”

“I don’t know, before Thanksgiving sometime?”

“Why was Yuuri drinking tequila?” Celestino demands, free hand clenching as his voice drops.

“We were at a party, I think it was Tequila Tuesday. I only got Yuuri to drink because it meant I couldn’t,” Phichit answers in a small voice. “I got really sick that weekend, but I only threw up for ten minutes, maybe.”

“You were drinking too?!”

“Yeah, I don’t really remember though; Yuuri told me I was a champ though.”

Celestino groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Phichit, is Yuuri drunk right now?”

“What? No!”

“You’re sure?”

“I swear! He hasn’t drunk anything in weeks, but even when he was really drunk and threw up it was never for this long.”

“And you’re not drunk either?” Celestino asks dryly.

“No! Neither of us are drunk.” Phichit sobs once. “I’m really scared, I’ve never seen Yuuri like this before. All of our friends went home, and I don’t think the nurse comes in until the afternoon.”

Celestino makes himself get back on track, though he makes a note to discuss his two skaters apparent drinking. “Do you want me to come and check on Yuuri?”

Phichit’s voice cracks as he replies, “Yes, please!”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes; I’ll call when I’m at the front door.”

“You’re the best, Ciao Ciao!”

Ten minutes later Celestino is let into the dorm building by Phichit who looks even more upset than he sounded on the phone. The dorm building is even creepier than the rest of the empty campus, though Phichit doesn’t seem to care as he drags Celestino upstairs.

“He’s still throwing up,” Phichit says. “I tried to get him to drink something but it came right back up. He’s really weak too, and I definitely think he has a fever.”

Celestino barely has time to look around the modest double dorm room as he’s lead into the tiny, single private bathroom.

Yuuri is kneeling in front of the toilet with his feet angled outwards, upper half cushioned on his left arm which is outstretched on the toilet seat. He looks miserable as he pants shallowly, quickly. His eyes are shut but not scrunched up. His grey t-shirt is sweated through in spots. His glasses are nowhere to be seen. A bottle of water is on the floor along with an opened package of crackers.

“Yuuri, I brought Ciao Ciao, he’ll help you,” Phichit says as he drops to his kneels behind Yuuri and gently shakes one shoulder. Celestino watches as Yuuri groans just a bit, but his eyes don’t open. In fact he doesn’t move at all as Phichit shakes harder.

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri groans louder and his eyes open to slits. “Mhm?”

“Yuuri, what happened?” Celestino murmurs as he kneels down and reaches out. He starts with his hand to Yuuri’s forehead, and indeed he feels quite warm. “You were fine yesterday.”

Yuuri makes a noise that suggests he has no idea what has happened. Celestino cards his hand back and through Yuuri’s hair, sweat keeping it in place briefly. Before Celestino can try to see if Yuuri can talk, Phichit screams. Yuuri flinches as Celestino falls back onto his rear with a cry of his own.

“What?”

Phichit looks horrified as tears roll over his cheeks as he whispers, “What if Yuuri is pregnant?”

Celestino feels his stomach drop, as if he’s jumped out of a plane without a parachute and no hope of surviving. He has a moment of sheer panic, one that he will remember for the rest of his life. What if that one of his best skaters is pregnant? How far along is he? Who’s the father? Can he afford to even _have_ a baby? What about Yuuri’s skating career? Did he even tell his family yet? Yuuri’s family, how is Yuuri ever going to tell them? Celestino fears he is going to have to break the news to Yuuri’s parents, a responsibility he is not ready to take, when he realizes the problem.

As Celestino exhales with relief Phichit sniffles and stares at Yuuri’s form before hugging him tightly. “I knew something happened, I knew it! Yuuri, you should have told me! Everyone knows what it means when you go upstairs at a house party; I knew you didn’t just go to pet that guy’s dog for three hours.”

“Phichit.”

“We promised we’d tell each other when we had sex for the first time! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Celestino can’t help but blush as he learns far too much about Yuuri and Phichit’s sexual lives from that tidbit. “Yuuri’s not pregnant, Phichit.”

“We can’t be sure,” Phichit simpers as he pets Yuuri. “Yuuri, did you use protection? Did the condom break?”

Yuuri ducks his head over the toilet and dry heaves as Phichit begins to rub up and down his back. “It’s ok, Yuuri, you don’t have to have a baby if you don’t to. Or if you do, that’s ok too! I’ll support you, whatever decision you make.”

Celestino goes to Phichit and slowly gets him away from Yuuri. “Yuuri isn’t pregnant; he’s male. He might be a father one day, but he can’t be a mother. Ever.”

Phichit lifts his head and blinks. He frowns a bit before his mouth pops open. “Oh, right.” Celestino guides Phichit out of the bathroom and sits him on the bed that doesn’t have a wall plastered with pictures and posters of Viktor Nikiforov. Phichit curls up on his side, and on a hunch Celestino puts his hand on Phichit’s neck; very warm.

“I forgot Yuuri couldn’t get pregnant; I thought it was morning sickness,” Phichit whispers.

“That’s alright; I’m sure Yuuri appreciates your support anyways,” Celestino says quietly as he hears Yuuri retch again. He reaches to the foot of the bed and pulls up on the blankets. Phichit shifts a bit as Celestino tucks him in, looking exhausted. It’s hard to tell if he’s getting sick, or if suddenly having an adult presence is that much of a stress reliever.

“I’ll take care of Yuuri, you try to sleep for a bit, alright?” Celestino suggests.

“Thanks, Ciao Ciao,” Phichit whispers.

Celestino sighs and turns to the bathroom just in time to see Yuuri sink onto the floor. “Yuuri!”

Yuuri is awake, but just barely as Celestino hastily sits him up. He mutters something in Japanese then clings to Celestino with a whimper that breaks Celestino’s heart. He begins a litany of sweet talk to comfort Yuuri, and wonders if all men have the paternal instincts he feels coursing through him, or if it’s just because, on occasion, late at night when his mind floats, he sometimes likes to imagine what his life would be like if he had his own children. In those fantasies many of his skaters make appearances to fill in the blanks, though as of late his mind has made him a father of two boys who bear very little resemblance to him.

“You’re going to be fine, Yuuri, I promise,” Celestino croons as he settles Yuuri against the wall. He gets Yuuri to sip some water from a water bottle on the sink counter, but seconds later Yuuri spits it all back up, and across his own front at that. It appears to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back when Yuuri begins to cry, but he’s apparently too dehydrated for any tears. Still, his face turns red as his face wrinkles, though he doesn’t even seem to have the energy to even give more than a few hiccupped noises. In that moment Celestino doesn’t see a sickly international athlete; he sees a young man, barely a man really, who is far from home, and most likely just wants his mom and to feel better.

“Oh, Yuuri, it’s alright, it’s alright.”

Yuuri is limp as Celestino wrangles him out of his messy t-shirt. He’s flushed down to the center of his chest, hot to the touch, but at least the vomiting has seemed to have stopped. Celestino presses the heel of his palm to Yuuri’s forehead again and wishes there was a thermometer.

“Phichit, is there a thermometer?” he calls as Yuuri begins to babble. At first it’s just a string of unintelligible syllables before he breaks into repeating or rather begging for “okaasan”.

“Thermometer? No, we don’t have one,” comes Phichit’s tired voice.

Celestino huffs a bit and looks around the bathroom. He spies a washcloth and wads it up. He soaks it in cool water, wrings it out, then begins to dab around Yuuri’s throat and chest. Yuuri twitches as his head rolls to one side.

“I know you want your mother, Yuuri, but she isn’t here right now,” Celestino says quietly, apologetically. “We can call her later though, would you like that?”

Yuuri hums affirmatively. Celestino smiles, just a bit, and works on cooling Yuuri down. With Phichit’s verbal help he finds a pill bottle in Yuuri’s backpack with generic antipyretics. Yuuri struggles to swallow the two pills, and until they take effect, Celestino is glad to find that his washcloth method has seemed to help a bit when Yuuri lifts his head.

“Dad?” comes the soft, puzzled question.

“No, just your coach,” replies Celestino, ignoring the flip his broken heart makes as being addressed as such, even by a delirious student.

“Mhm, Coach, hi.” Yuuri blinks a bit and smiles. “Hi.”

“Hi, Yuuri, how do you feel?”

“I thought you were my dad,” Yuuri whispers before his head drops. “You’re not my dad?”

“No, Yuuri, your father is in Japan, with your mom.”

“I’m not in Japan?” Yuuri asks, sounding a little surprised.

Celestino swallows and reaches under Yuuri’s arms. He struggles to get Yuuri to his feet. “No, you’re in Detroit. Michigan. America.”

“Oh, ok.”

Yuuri goes quiet as he’s essentially manhandled into the other bed. Celestino covers him in the sheet then goes to get the washcloth which he is quite sure has become his new best friend. He gets it wet again then sets it on Yuuri’s forehead.

“Ciao Ciao?”

“Yes, Phichit?”

He turns to look at the other bed where Phichit is rolling over. “I don’t feel very good.”

“No?”

Again, Celestino is struck with what he dubs as paternal feelings as he makes sure Yuuri is not about die in the next couple seconds to switch his focus; Phichit needs him. He goes to the other bed and takes the hand that is escaping out from under the blankets. He squeezes Phichit’s hands gently and eases it onto the bed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just don’t feel good,” Phichit mumbles, half his face hidden in the pillow. His one visible look a little glassy, and Celestino is willing to bet he’s running a fever.

“Are you going to vomit too?” Celestino asks with a hint of humor.

“No, I just don’t feel good,” Phichit answers, sounding fatigued. Celestino pats his head and can’t make himself stop when Phichit lifts his head like a cat seeking more affection. The little happy noise he makes only ensures that Celestino can’t drag himself away.

“It might just be a one-day sickness,” he whispers as he strokes through Phichit’s hair.

“I hope so.”

Phichit’s eye closes and Celestino waits for his breathing to deepen before he stops. He goes back to Yuuri who blinks tiredly up at him, but still with a smile on his face. “Hi.”

“Hi, Yuuri.”

Yuuri giggles and shakes his head which causes the washcloth to fall over his one eye. “Hi.”

Celestino removes the offending material, flips it over, and puts it back onto Yuuri’s forehead. Yuuri smacks his lips and reaches up with both hands. He holds onto Celestino’s wrist with a weak grip. “Coach?”

“Yes?”

“Hi.”

Celestino lets Yuuri drag his hand to his throat and press it against his hot skin. Celestino clucks; Yuuri’s obviously still delirious with fever. He lets Yuuri have his way for a few seconds before tugging his hand free. Yuuri whines at the lose but quiets when Celestino shushes him.

“Try to sleep, Yuuri.”

“Leaving?” Yuuri croaks.

“No, you can’t leave,” breathes Phichit, Celestino looking over his shoulder to where Phichit is trying to sit up. “Please don’t leave?”

“I won’t leave, but you two need to sleep,” Celestino says firmly, but apparently Coach Celestino has been replaced by Father Celestino who is much, much weaker than the former.

Celestino fetches water and pills for Phichit to take, then finds another washcloth. He gets the two are comfortable as possible. Once they are silent and still, drifting into slumber, he lets himself look around the dorm room. He’s never been inside before, nevertheless in the building, but he’s not surprised at what he sees. He can’t but smile; it’s easy to tell which side of the room is Yuuri’s, a shrine to Viktor Nikiforov in short. Phichit’s side is decorated with numerous 4x6 pictures, and it looks like many are taken from Phichit’s social media platforms. Upon closer inspection Celestino finds what he considers to be an alarming amount of pictures that have the tell-tale red solo cups, not in the back ground but rather in hands, namely the hands of his skaters which are not just limited to Yuuri and Phichit. He narrows his eyes at a group shot and he spies a number of his students, all grinning and holding a bright red cup. He tells himself he needs to make an announcement about drinking and how it is a habit that he does not tolerate.

“Ciao Ciao?”

Celestino immediately looks over at Phichit. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re not ruining your day, are we?” Phichit whimpers, and Celestino tells himself it’s the fever talking when he finds himself frantically trying to calm the two down when they begin to cry in apparent guilt.

“No, no you’re not ruining anything, I wasn’t doing anything today,” he assures them, bouncing back and forth like a ping pong ball. Their beds are only a few feet apart, but Celestino feels like he’s done a workout when he’s finally able to stop. He sits on the floor between the bed and wipes at his brow, panting just a bit.

“Kids,” he whispers to himself with a shake of his head. He collapses backwards, and then finds himself inspecting under Yuuri and Phichit’s beds. He sees plastic containers, some books, some shoes, and what looks like a t-shirt. Luckily he doesn’t see anything incriminating or embarrassing.

Celestino sits up, makes sure that both Yuuri and Phichit are, for the moment, asleep, then wanders around the rest of the room, telling himself it’s not being nosey if it’s in plain sight. Eventually Yuuri begins to stir, and if possible he looks even worse than before. However he seems more lucid, and Celestino gets him to drink some water and another pill.

“What happened?” Yuuri whispers as Celestino fusses with the pillows that helps him sit up then makes sure Yuuri is securely tucked in under the blankets, only his arms being free.

“You’re sick; you had Phichit very worried,” Celestino says quietly with a nod over to Phichit who is nothing but a snoring lump under the blankets.

“My stomach hurts,” Yuuri grumbles with a wince. “Like I did sit-ups for a week straight.”

Celestino chuckles lightly and makes himself comfortable on the bed by Yuuri’s hip. “You vomit like a champion, it seems.”

He watches as Yuuri’s face scrunches up a bit. “There’s a way to vomit like a loser?”

“I’m only quoting Phichit; you’d have to ask him, but he’s ah, under the weather as well.”

Yuuri nods a bit and snuggles down in bed. “Thank you for you coming, Coach.”

“No need to thank me, Yuuri.”

“You didn’t have to come and, and take care of us,” Yuuri says softly, and Celestino’s hand twitches towards Yuuri’s which rests over his lap.

“No, but I wanted to; I can’t coach corpses now, can I?”

Yuuri shrugs as his eyes flutter shut. He looks terrible, and just that short conversation seems to have taken all his energy. Celestino bites his lip then decides to act on impulse. He coaxes a few more sips of water down Yuuri’s throat before stroking his hair back.

“You should sleep, you still have a fever.”

Yuuri hums and slowly sinks down in bed. Celestino shifts the blankets to his shoulders and strokes along his forehead until the wrinkles smooth out.

“Sleep, Yuuri, I won’t leave you.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri half-sighs, half-whispers.


End file.
